


They'd never needed the words

by Sasha713



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode: s08e18 Threads, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasha713/pseuds/Sasha713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dock scene</p>
            </blockquote>





	They'd never needed the words

He sat on his dock as the sun dipped down below the tree line. It was growing quiet here, the sounds of the animals dulling, the reflection from the water stretched out before him darker with the dimming light, a glow still shining off the slightly rippling surface. He thought about all the things that made this moment so worth it. The moment he could sit here watching the beauty of his surroundings change and transform with the rise and fall of the sun. So simple and yet vastly complicated.

The days leading up to this moment were forever entrenched within his mind. The pain, the heartache, the uncertainty and grief. The regrets and the loss and the feeling of hope and relief. It made him all the more aware of the fact that they were human. They made human mistakes, and at the same time faced inhuman situations that tested them in ways that they had never truly been tested.

Thinking back, he could almost feel what he had been feeling then. That day that had changed everything that he had thought was normal. Made him realise that things were never as normal as they seemed.

He had known from the moment she had appeared in his back yard that day why she was there. He had hoped many times that she would come to him in that same manner and tell him what had gone clandestine between them for so long. He had dared hope for something he had always secretly thought would never be granted to him.

He had hoped and feared he would be disappointed, but then, she had appeared, a ray of light with her blonde hair glowing despite the smoke coming from his beer drenched and burnt streaks.

He had dreaded the moment when she would bare witness to his affair with Kerry Johnson of the CIA, knowing that he couldn’t just beam the other woman out of his house so she wasn’t there to ruin the moment he’d waited for. At that moment, he had wished that he’d thought to get Thor a mobile and put him on speed dial. What he would have given for one of the Asgard’s impromptu beaming moments then.

He had almost been holding his breath as she had spoken of trying to find the courage to talk to him for a specific reason. About her concern that she would be making a big huge mistake if she went through with the wedding that was approaching quicker than...well...quicker than he’d thought.

He’d always had this idea that it was a long way away, and that made “it” easier to deal with. The closer it had become, the more he had tried to sink within himself. Her appearance in his back yard brought him above the surface, her hesitant and slightly awkward words reviving him.

But, as usual, they were interrupted. It seemed that there was more against them besides Kerry Johnson’s presence that afternoon.

Jacob Carter was dying.

Just like his relationship with the Agent. Her suggestions about his own retirement leaving him a casualty to his own emotions on the subject. Retire. Again. If anyone had come to his empty doorway at that very moment, they would not have seen the strong Brig. General Jack O’Neill. They would merely have seen a man in love, struggling with himself, faced with an impossible decision, his expression one of utter heartache.

He had gone to her then. Needing to see her. He hadn’t broken out into song about how much he loved her. He hadn’t asked her to finish what she had started at his home. He had merely been beside her while she mourned for a father on the brink.

He had felt every raw emotion radiating from her. Had believed her when she had said she was fine because he knew her. She would be fine. And he had known at that moment, as she had clutched his hand in hers, that _they_ would be fine too.

The catalyst of a change had started that day. There was no exact moment of conversion but...they had transitioned.

He had been with her then. Completely. He hadn’t cheapened the moment with Valentine’s Day card sentimentality. Instead, he had comforted her in the only way he’d known how. With a softly spoken _‘Always’_ when she’d thanked him for his presence beside her. A place he’d _always_ been.

He had watched her as Jacob Carter had died, father and daughter holding hands, feeling the loss of a man he had both respected and admired for raising a daughter such as Samantha Carter. He had sworn to himself he would let himself mourn for the loss of his friend, but, as he watched her cry as Jacob had taken his last breath, he’d known she needed his strength, even if he wasn’t right next to her. He had watched her pain from afar like so many times before, staying there for however long she had needed him....a spoken need or not.

The death of Jacob Carter hadn’t stopped time to give them a moment to acknowledge the life that was lost. No. Duty had dictated their time. The enemies of Earth were, as usual, unconcerned with the death of one of them. Something made clear all those years ago when Daniel had died.

Anubis had attacked mere hours after Jacob’s death, and as Jack had watched the timer on the self destruct count down the moments before it detonated, he had wondered how he had let “things” dictate what he did and with whom.

The only regret he’d had besides his upcoming demise was not looking Samantha Carter in the eye and telling her that he had always cared more for her than he was supposed to and that those feelings he felt had never truly stayed in that isolation room for him. Instead, he had said nothing, sharing one look with her across the control room.

It didn’t matter that moments later they had still been alive despite Anubis’ attempt to blow them to hell, because that timer counting down the seconds had shown him that their lives were wrought with danger and peril and absolutely _no_ guarantees of a death without regrets.

He had spoken to her with his eyes, hoping that she understood, because, really, he’d never been all that good at putting feelings into words.

She _had_ known. She _had_ understood. And she had spoken to him in the same way, her eyes full to the brim of things she’d never say. An unspoken realisation that something was starting to change. Maybe not that day. Maybe not that year... but it was a commitment non-the-less. A commitment of two souls speaking without words, promising the other something that was forbidden for now. A commitment that was _‘Not-exactly’_ designated with a certain title. Something that would remain between them until the time came to explore what exactly it was or what it could be.

His pond awaited, the lack of fish merely making her laugh as they sat side-by-side on his small dock, watching midday sunlight glimmer off the still water stretched out before them, surface rippling every so often as their fishing lures hit then fell beneath.

The last of the sunlight disappeared from his view, his thoughts drifting back to the present. Jack closed his eyes for a moment as the evening enveloped around him, the lights within his cabin coming on behind him to compensate for the loss of the sun, the back screen door opening with a creak.

“Jack?” He turned with a fond smile at the picture she made, standing just outside his cabin, holding the door with one hand, the light from within illuminating her. He stood slowly, working out the kinks in his legs and back, not wanting to waste this time within his own mind any longer.

“I’m coming.” He replied as he folded his deck chair and walked up towards where she stood waiting with a small smile tipping her lips.

Love didn’t have to be spoken to be felt, and one day when they could say it freely, they still wouldn’t. Not because they feared retribution or because it was so habitual to keep it locked away, but because...well...they’d never needed the words.

.fin.


End file.
